The rain comes down the enameled metal surface, streams deviating as etched crevasses recall seasons and generations. The rusty playground is site to another tropical downpour in the southern-most territory of the United States. A soaked flag wags limp, hoisted over volcanic masonry.
Golden fields contain lost civilizations. The withered carapace of a wind generator lies like a fallen megalith. Local ranchers tend to fleets of defunct machinery as tourists traverse their land. The earth is scorched by voracious cattle. Living leather purses, filled with bones, watch the rust punk revolution unfold.